


rolling waves over me now, that's all i need, dreaming

by deputymercury



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Guardian Angels, Alternate Universe - Horror, Angst, M/M, My First Work in This Fandom, Mystery, Paranormal, Suicidal Thoughts, Tagging as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-10-17 05:03:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17553893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deputymercury/pseuds/deputymercury
Summary: Virgil Sturm has been searching for a way out of Elk Heights since he was a child, even resorting to communicating with the spirits he sees in order to collect information. But after all these years, he’s still clueless, left with no method of freeing his town from the demon’s curse.Then the boy falls from the sky, claiming to be his guardian angel, and Virgil finds a sliver of hope.





	1. Chapter 1

Virgil Sturm witnessed his first corpse when he was eleven years old.

Back then he still had hope, like most children in Elk Heights did. They were innocent, at first wondering what the adults were always whispering about, but then ignoring them in favor of playtime. As for Virgil, he had spent a great deal of his time reading every battered copy of  _ Harry Potter  _ available in the town library, even if he could only find the first four books. He had wished, sometimes, that an owl would perch on his rooftop with a letter and a twinkle in its eyes, inviting him away to a world of magic. 

Reality, of course, was much more grim.

Virgil had been traveling back from the park. His playmate, Logan Cambridge, had offered to walk him home as he usually did. Virgil had insisted he leave him alone, though. He had spotted a deer the day before on his walk back to his house, but Logan’s incessant chattering about ‘fascinating facts regarding jellyfish’ had scared it off almost immediately. He wanted to see it again. It seemed increasingly rare for him to spot any animals lurking nearby. His parents had forbidden him from venturing into the woods as well, though he had never quite understood why.

As he sped off on the cobblestone path to his house, his steps quiet as a cat’s, he found goosebumps prickling at his skin. The sun was dipping below the horizon, while the last strains of gold and purple struggled to stay in the air as it sunk. The wind bit right through his old sweater. It was one of those days where he just wanted to cozy up by the fire with a good book. But all he could see were the shadows of the trees looming over him: not quite foreboding, but not exactly welcoming, either. The fog obscuring them beyond a certain point sent a twinge through his gut.

There was a sudden rustle from the trees to the left. Virgil jerked his head to the side and stared off into the forest, his body tense and ears perked. He saw no sign of a deer or any other animal. But the curiosity nagged at him, asking him,  _ It wouldn’t be so terrible to venture just a little ways off the path, right? _

And Virgil, being an eleven-year-old boy, followed his impulses.

The carpet of pine needles helped muffle his steps, but Virgil still trod carefully, tiptoeing into the forest at a slow pace. As he left the path behind him, it was as if he’d placed a pair of earmuffs over his ears: all sounds, even the quiet whisper of the wind, were muffled, then silenced completely. The sun was no longer visible. All that remained was a faint haze of purple in the sky.

Virgil squinted into the fog. He wondered what was beyond it. All his life, he’d never left town, and his parents refused to travel anywhere, always looking away whenever he asked. At first the fog looked like a heavy blanket, obscuring everything beyond it. But then he caught a glance of a faint blue light radiating alongside it.

He stepped forward as quickly as he could. The blue light took the shape of a person, complete with hollow, empty eyes and bruised feet that hovered above the ground. They were still translucent, their mouth frozen in a silent scream. Wisps of ghostly fabric floated around them, much of it stained with a darker substance. Virgil backed up a few steps and gripped at the sides of his sweater. The wraith loomed over him, being easily twice as tall. They reached out a hand; every fingernail was cracked or broken. Virgil shrank back until he was up against a tree. 

“Please don’t hurt me,” he tried to croak out, but the words never left his mouth. His throat was completely dry. 

The wraith extended their arm, so slowly it made Virgil want to scream, and pointed outwards into the fog. Their lips moved silently, but too fast for Virgil to decipher any words, and then they melted back into the floating blue light before dissipating completely.

He relaxed against the tree, heaving out a soundless sigh. Virgil had been thinking it was reaching out to kill him. He wondered what his parents would think if they found his body in the woods. Logan would no doubt be upset, and his parents would cry a great deal, he imagined. He should leave the forest, he thought to himself. It wasn’t every day you saw a ghost.

And then Virgil heard the scream.

The sudden, grating noise curdled his blood. His head shot up so quickly that he dinged it against the tree. A cry of pain met his lips, but it never went outwards. He had thought the forest was oddly silent here. So what had screamed…?

He stood up, rubbing the back of his head, and ran in the direction of the sound, zigzagging so he would be closer to the edge of the woods. If someone was hurt, he would need to help them! That’s what all the characters in his books did. 

But as he stopped in his tracks, noticing the scores of deep red painting the forest floor, he couldn’t help but wonder if those characters had ever been in a situation like his.

Curiosity forced him to continue; he followed the trail of blood, careful not to step in the mess with his old sneakers, and prayed to whatever higher power out there that he could fix this. The last of the day’s light had finally slipped away, leaving him wandering through the woods by the light of the crescent moon. The closer he got to the edge of the woods, the more sounds he could hear. There was the familiar murmur of the breeze again, and then the faint chirp of crickets. Virgil felt his spirits lifting. Maybe nothing was wrong after all. Maybe it was all just a funny little joke--

His foot landed on something that let out a low  _ crack _ .

A shape cast in shadow laid on the forest floor, more of the dark liquid seeping around it-- no, him. The figure was a man face-up on the ground. Though Virgil couldn’t recognize him, he couldn’t hear any breathing, and the three punctures deep in his torso told him the rest of the story. His torn shirt was fully soaked through in the front. The stench made Virgil want to gag.

“O-oh my God. I--” His throat choked itself up until he couldn’t speak, trapped suddenly by the onslaught of tears threatening to break loose. Virgil kneeled down and checked the man’s wrist for a pulse. Nothing. He was too late.

The worst part was that the man had clearly been dragged through the woods after his terrible injuries, gushing blood all the while. Whatever had killed the man took its time taking the corpse to the edge of the forest for all to see. Like it  _ wanted  _ Virgil to see.

“Someone, anyone! Help!  _ PLEASE!” _

Virgil screamed until his throat went hoarse. He grabbed at the man’s jacket and shook it, hoping that somehow those glassy eyes would blink and be alive again. The couple who eventually showed up found Virgil sobbing over the body, the front of his jeans soaked in blood from kneeling beside the corpse and begging him to wake up. Even as they guided him away from the body, he trembled all the while, knowing now that he would never be able to erase the sight of the man from his mind. 

That day, Virgil learned two things.

One, that he could not save anyone.

And two, that he could never, ever escape Elk Heights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! This is my first work in this fandom and I'm very excited to write it ^^ Patton will make his debut next chapter so get ready. And as for everyone who loves Roman (including myself), he WILL be in this fic, just not yet.
> 
> Title is from 'Souk Eye' by Gorillaz.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil is on the brink, but then he meets someone new.

Virgil is nineteen now and used to the violence, but he still thinks about the corpses he’s seen during work.

It’s a morbid train of thought, but he can’t help it. People come into the store and all he can think of is whether or not it’s the last time he’ll ever see them alive. Every now and then someone will finally get tired of being trapped in Elk Heights and charge into the fog. He’s lucky if he never sees them again, but usually Virgil catches a glimpse of the body as the townspeople carry it to be cremated, as the graveyard is already full.

Despite the constant air of death permeating the town, many still attempt to delude themselves into thinking they’re living a normal life. But Virgil has always been a realist-- or, a pessimist, as his mother claims-- and refuses to fall into the same mentality. Oftentimes he finds himself helping to carry the half-torn, ravaged bodies to the fire pit at one end of town. He’ll stare into the dead eyes of the corpses and wonder why he can’t speak with them when they become ghosts.

It lingers in his mind as he finishes his shift at the local library, switching out with Logan at last. Logan’s a familiar presence, but comforting nonetheless. He reaches out to Virgil and gives him a hesitant pat on the shoulder. Neither of them are great with their emotions, but at least he’s trying.

“Is everything alright? You seem distracted,” Logan says.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just need some fresh air,” Virgil responds, slinging his bag over his shoulder. There’s nothing substantial in it, apart from some books he’s read one too many times, but the weight is familiar. Calming, almost.

“You’ve been needing a great deal of fresh air lately,” Logan admits, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a finger. “There aren’t any problems?”

“Nothing I can’t handle.”

“That’s what you continue to tell me, but I have reason to believe otherwise, Virgil. I’m starting to consider the possibility that your asthma is making a comeback--”

“It’s not my asthma,” Virgil snaps. The conversation goes dead for a second, and Virgil realizes that this might be the day Logan finally decides to stop putting up with his shit. His heart starts up again, quick as a drum.

Logan doesn’t look too bothered, but the sinking of his shoulders tells Virgil a different story. He sets down his journal and binder overflowing with papers onto the counter. “Well then. Let me know if they say anything today.”

Ever since the fateful day when Virgil first discovered a body, he’s been able to see the ghosts lingering at the edge of the fog. He only ever admitted it to Logan, who is still somewhat skeptical about it, but considering the amount of paranormal activity surrounding the town he ultimately had no choice but to believe. Virgil still tries to communicate with them, even after all these years. He likes to think he hasn’t completely given up yet.

He leaves the library; the sky is cloudy, as it almost always is. A gut feeling tells Virgil there’ll be a ghost lurking around the copse of trees by the cliffside, and his instincts are often right, so Virgil makes his way across the grass and towards the shore. It’s a bad day for the fishermen; the fog stretches past the borders of land and makes its way across the ocean, blanketing everything to the point that Virgil cannot even see the beach.

On a good day, when the fog’s beginning point has traveled much further out on the oceanfront, the fishermen often bring in big hauls, as they can sail further out. But in times like these, they have no choice but to stay on land. Virgil thinks that whatever’s keeping them imprisoned likes to allow them the ocean as a food source: not out of generosity, but so it can keep them all alive longer, in order to pick them off one by one.

“Shut up,” Virgil tells his brain. He tends to get morbid when he’s alone. The thought reminds him of the ghost he should speak too, so he sets out for the copse of pine trees towards the edge of the cliff.

The tree roots try their hardest to trip him up whenever he goes near the fog, almost like they’re attempting to keep him away. But Virgil’s nimble from years of dodging around people, avoiding them almost as one would with the plague, so he doesn’t slip even once. A glowing blue figure beckons to him at the edge of the fog. Here, so close to the mist that could eat him alive, the pine needles and grass make no sound when he steps on them.

The ghost’s lips move silently. Her hair is impossibly long, yet matted, though the sight of the blood and gore strewn across her front easily distracts Virgil from it. He’s long grown used to the sight.

“I can’t hear you,” Virgil says. He’s come to discover that the fog has a dampening effect on sound, but he’s also become better at working through it. Still, though, his voice is barely as loud as a whisper.

The ghost extends her arm, pointing outwards with a crooked, possibly broken finger towards the ocean. Her gaze is inscrutable, and the soundless movements of her lips make no sense to Virgil.

Virgil sighs. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”

As if broken from a trance, the ghost lets her arm settle back to her side, then dissipates. It’s such a familiar disappointment, and yet Virgil is overwhelmed with a sudden fury. He kicks the nearest tree for good measure. It does nothing to settle his thoughts, though his foot does hurt now.

“Damn it,” he hisses under his breath. “Damn it!” He kicks the tree again, and then he feels bad. The tree has done nothing wrong. He, on the other hand, can literally see ghosts, and yet he hasn’t done a thing to help free the people in Elk Heights.

Virgil storms away from the copse of trees and towards the cliffside. Fresh ocean air hits his face, reminding him of how he’s doomed to die in this town. He sets his bag down and sits at the cliff-- not close enough to the edge that his legs dangle off, as that would be a foolish idea, but close enough to be in danger.

 _In danger of what?_ Virgil dares to ask himself. He could tumble down the cliffside and break every bone in his body along the way. If he was unlucky, he would remain alive at the bottom, bleeding slowly, in agony, until the fog came for him and whatever lurked inside tore him to pieces. He cradles his face in his hands, eyes shut tight, as the darker thoughts trickle in.

It wouldn’t be so terrible to die, Virgil thinks. He’s considered it every now and then while lying in bed, watching the ceiling in the faint hope it would lull him to sleep, but only now does the thought weigh heavily on him. The future won’t be going anywhere. He’ll work the same job at the library every day. Sometimes he’ll help lug around the fog’s victims and ask their dead eyes why he’s too stupid to fix anything. Logan will put up with him for as long as he can before the negativity becomes too much, and then he’ll eventually ditch Virgil in favor of the older academics in town. It was time Logan left behind the business of Virgil’s ghosts and investigating the fog; he was far too intelligent to be playing those hopeful games. If he could build enough inventions, on the other hand, he could keep the town running without a hitch.

As for Virgil’s parents...well. He can see it in their eyes that they are just as exhausted as him, try as they do to hide it. They would be better off without his leeching presence, better off without the extra mouth to feed. In the end, Virgil is merely wasting resources; nothing he does brings any good.

His head spins. It wouldn’t be that hard to make it look like an accident. That way they wouldn’t all blame themselves for the death, asking over and over what they did to tip Virgil over the edge. It would be so easy. He could just let himself slip off the edge of the cliff and fall, headfirst, allowing himself to be weightless for once. It would be the only thing he ever did right. They would all be better off if he just jumped--

Weight topples onto Virgil; he collapses, laying face-down in the dirt. Something’s on top of him. God, is it the presence lurking in the fog? He scrambles around, clawing at the dirt in a desperate attempt to pull himself off the ground. The fog must’ve crept too close to the cliff. Or maybe he went too far. Blood churns in his ears as he frantically pushes away from the weight-- Wait.

The presence is warm. They must be human. Virgil finally sits up, pushing the person off him, fully prepared to spit curses at the offender. “Hey, what the f--”

Virgil freezes.

He’s certain he knows everyone in Elm Heights, and yet this stranger is an unfamiliar face. He doesn’t have the trademark sunken eyes that every adult in town possesses. His eyes are brown, like Virgil’s, but while Virgil’s are so dark they almost look black, the stranger’s irises are shot through with light, appearing warm as honey.

“Oh my-- oh my goodness. You _can_ see me after all! I mean, I kind of had a feeling you’d be able to, but now I know for sure, and that’s better than being half sure, and--“ The stranger’s smile looks as if it’ll split his face at any moment. He won’t stop rambling, waving his hands excitedly like a baby bird fluttering its wings.

“Hey. Hold on, just-- Slow down. Slow down.” Virgil hasn’t met anyone this excitable in years. There’s Logan, sure, but he goes on tangents about facts, not emotions.

The stranger pauses. Now that he isn’t chattering, Virgil can focus more on his face, quickly noticing the myriad of freckles scattered across his cheeks and over the bridge of his nose. He looks like the type of guy to spend all day running around a sunny beach. Which makes _no_ sense, considering how they’re in Connecticut, where the main tourists are considered to be the aggressive seagulls.

“How the hell did you get here?” Virgil asks, pointing an accusing finger at the stranger.

“My wings, of course! If I could just show you how--” the stranger stretches his shoulders, then his arms, glancing towards his back all the while. “Darn! I swear I’m not making this up, kiddo, I was flying a few minutes ago. But then the air currents got all weird, so I had to _wing_ it,” he says, chuckling at his own pun.

“So your wings aren’t always there.”

“Nope! They come and go as I like, usually. It’d be a pain to sleep with them still around me. And don’t even get me started on getting changed with them there--”

“Not the point I was trying to make.” Virgil crosses his arms over his chest and stares the stranger down. The sunny energy that radiates off him isn’t off-putting, necessarily, but it’s so unfamiliar to him that he feels uncomfortable nonetheless. Combined with the possibly false claim of wings, there’s a likelihood this stranger is just a town local who’s gone completely off his rocker. “Who are you?”

“Oh, how silly of me, I haven’t even told you my name. I’m Patton Casey. And well, I know I haven’t been the best at it, but I’m your guardian angel!”

Virgil’s brain short-circuits for a second, then fires up, shooting the thoughts so quickly he can barely keep up. No way, no way, _no_ _fucking way._ He takes several steps back, hunching in on himself. “Yeah, right. And I’m Harry Potter, right down to the magic powers. I hate to break it to you, but you can’t fool me.”

“But it’s true!” And now Patton is stepping closer, his arms outstretched, and Virgil doesn’t like that at all. His steps send him further from the cliff’s edge, away from the scent of the sea. “I haven’t been able to come here, that’s all.”

“You ditched me,” Virgil spits, already more upset than he realized. “You ditched a sob story like me so you could hang out with your guardian angel friends in heaven or wherever you go when you’re not hanging around crying children. Great work being my caretaker.” There’s a bitterness in his mouth, like food long gone sour. Here is the one person supposedly destined to care for him, and even that person abandoned him. The realization burns in his chest. Is he that unlovable?

“No, no, kiddo, I promise it wasn’t like that! There’s a barrier around your town. The fog. I couldn’t break through it.” He almost sounds sincere, and his hand gestures are borderline frantic. Virgil wants so badly to believe him, but every part of his nervous instincts scream otherwise.

“Is that so? Then how come you’re here right now?”

Silence apart from the wind whistling in Virgil’s ears. It doesn’t show on his face, but he’s panicking on the inside, wondering whether or not the so-called guardian angel was stalling for an excuse for not showing up. He wonders if Patton only felt bad and visited out of guilt.

Patton is no longer smiling. His face is downcast, the amber in his eyes muted. When he talks, his voice is barely above a whisper, drained of the previous energy it possessed. “Guardian angels gain more power when they sense the person they’re guarding is at risk of harm. From other people, or--” He looks up at Virgil. His expression is like he’s been shot. “Or from themselves.”

“Oh.” Virgil doesn’t know what to say. It feels like he’s been stripped naked in front of this stranger, completely vulnerable. He’s never let anyone-- not Logan, not his parents--know about his true nervous thought process and how bad it gets. Some nights he can’t sleep because of the anxiety that plagues him, asking endless _what if?_ s when all he wants is to sleep. He wonders how much Patton knows.

“But!” Patton claps his hands together. The grin is back on his face, though it’s too tight at the edges. “That means I can get you and everyone else out of here! Wherever ‘here’ is, anyway. I can tell you all sorts of jokes, and--”

“I don’t think you get it, Patton.” Virgil says, looking back at the supposed angel. Patton is far too bright and kind to survive Elk Heights. “Your wings disappeared for a reason. No. One. Leaves. We’re all trapped here like this is some kind of zoo. And something in the fog is picking us off, one by one, and I’m-- I’m _scared._ I’m scared it’s gonna be me next, or my friend, or my parents. You have no idea how terrifying it is to live with that every day.” His voice is shaking by the time he’s done speaking

Patton’s expression crumples again. If he had wings, Virgil bets they’d be drooping. “Well. Who knows, kiddo? Maybe I was brought here at this time for a reason. Maybe we can fix this, if you just let me help you.”

“I don’t trust you.” Virgil feels tempted to pull his hood over his head and pull at the strings until Patton can’t see his face. The hopeful optimism the guardian angel radiates seems too good to be true; all Virgil has ever known is the despondent acceptance of the situation that everyone in Elk Heights has.

“But it wouldn’t hurt to give me a chance, right?”

As much as Virgil hates to admit it to himself, Patton has a good point. Virgil has nothing better to do to pass the time, and there’s no other explanation for Patton’s mysterious appearance, anyhow. He doesn’t believe in fate, but if he’s the one controlling his destiny, he might as well take it for a complete one-eighty.

And something deeper in himself tells him to trust Patton. Virgil doesn’t quite understand it, but the way Patton smiles at him already makes him feel safer, makes it easier to forget that the fog is never too far away. Part of him wonders if it’s because he’s lonely, after all these years of wandering the same town with the same people and the same shield up. If he’s really a guardian angel, he’ll care, won’t he?

_Did he ever care?_

Virgil ignores the last thought. “Fine. We’ll go back to my house, and I can tell you what I know.”

Patton beams and, before Virgil can react, wraps him in a hug. “Thank you so much! I promise you won’t regret it, we’re gonna be such good buddies!”

“Yeah, yeah. Let go of me, you’re killing my lungs.” Patton releases Virgil, who picks up his satchel and slings it over his shoulder. He takes one last glance at the cliffside before he begins walking in the opposite direction, gesturing for Patton to follow.

“Did you ever try and get through the fog before?” Virgil asks. It’s been lingering on his mind for the better half of the conversation, if he’s honest with himself. “Or test it? Or do anything to try and figure it out? ‘Cause I know a pretty smart guy, and he couldn’t do any kinds of tests on it.”

Patton breaks out a sunny smile. “Well, I tried to grab some of the fog and put it in a jar… but then I _mist!_ ”

Virgil snorts at first, but then covers it up with a scoff. This is going to be a long day. “I’m not letting you into my house.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sdhfksjd I have been SO busy with school and i haven't had time to update any fics,,,, but anyway here's patton!! (I hope he wasn't too OOC...) I'm super excited to keep writing this fic, and I'll try to update whenever I can! Thanks for reading!


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